


Losing isn't always bad

by ChocoNut



Series: Modern JB love [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Pining and misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21520777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: When Jaime is defeated in an arm wrestling challenge by his friend Bronn, he has to do as Bronn says. He has to kiss his best friend, Brienne.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Modern JB love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557871
Comments: 8
Kudos: 192





	Losing isn't always bad

**Author's Note:**

> The last but one among the fics I had written earlier and put away.  
> Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy it!

“There's still time,” Bronn tried to nudge his opponent into giving up. “Just say the word, Jaime,” he coaxed, his jaw tightening under the effort. “Let go. Surrender.”

“I won’t,” Jaime grunted, and Brienne could sense the tension building up in him, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his face reddening under the strain, beads of sweat decorating his forehead as he tried to push his opponent’s wrist down to the table with all his weight and strength. “Not even if I have to sit here all night.”

“Oh, leave it, you two,” Brienne said, exasperated, hoping to inject some sense into the pair who’d been spending the last few minutes in a pointless battle of their egos. “Is it so important that you--”

“It is,” Bronn replied, “because if I win, Lannister’s gonna do whatever I ask him to.”

Rolling her eyes at the men, she settled down on the nearest chair. “You really think so?”

“Of course, he will,” Bronn said, in a tone that oozed confidence. “It’s a deal. A Lannister always keeps his word, doesn’t he, dude?”

“Not if I win,” said Jaime, gritting his teeth. One look at his face and she could make out that things weren’t going the way he expected, that he’d soon find himself at the losing end of the deal.

“You won’t,” Bronn continued with the same burst of enthusiasm. “All you’re going to end up with is a sore elbow. So why don’t you just tell me I’m stronger and we’ll leave it at that.”

“Fuck off,” barked Jaime, bringing Bronn’s attempt at a negotiation to an end.

The struggle went on for a few more seconds with neither man ready to give in, their arms perfectly vertical, each as powerful as the other.

“I hope this ends soon,” whined Sansa beside her. “I don’t want to grow old in this pub, watching this.”

“Neither do I,” Brienne agreed. Stupid men with their stupid little ego clashes were such a waste of time. “C’mon, Sansa, let’s go get some fresh air.” She got up, her patience coming to an end before this ridiculous game could. “We can return after a while. I’m sure these two will still be here,” she said dryly. The women left their chairs, turning away from the spectacle, but before they could reach for their purses, there came a loud triumphant roar from behind them.

“Aaand I win,” Bronn shouted gleefully, bringing his fist down on the table.

Jaime rubbed his arm, looking surly and pouting like a spoilsport. “I was distracted. We can have a rematch. Best of three--”

“Oh, no noo!” Bronn vehemently shook his head. “I won fair and square and I demand what I was promised. Pay up, Lannister.”

“He’s right, Jaime,” Sansa concurred with a shrug. “A deal is a deal. You lost the game. Now you’ve gotta do as he says.”

Jaime buried his face in his palms. “Fine,” he sullenly agreed, facing the gang, then pulled out his wallet from his jeans pocket. “I’d like to settle this once and for all. How much do I owe you--”

“It isn’t money that I want,” said Bronn, the wicked smile he wore, warning Brienne that something ominous was cooking in his head, that this was an elaborate trap Jaime had fallen prey to. 

Jaime folded his arms across the chest. “What, then?”

Still grinning, Bronn surveyed the rest of them, one at a time, until his eyes came to rest on Brienne. “Kiss her, Jaime,” he demanded, and Brienne felt a punch to her gut, her breathing stalled, all of a sudden, the world around her fading to black.

“You’re kidding, I hope,” Jaime remarked tonelessly, his eyes coated with shock, fear, and something more - probably disgust, and Brienne was dragged out of her trance, his reluctance to meet his end of the bargain, to her surprise, bothering her more than the fear of it being executed.

“Kiss Brienne,” Bronn repeated. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Jaime was glued to the chair, not moving, not saying nothing, fingers circling his forehead in tense movements.

“Chuck it,” Brienne said, fighting to keep her voice normal, “this is never going to happen, Jaime’s never--”

“Do it, Jaime,” cheered Sansa, her eyes lighting up in anticipation when she looked at them both alternately.

Brienne picked up her purse. “I’m leaving,” she announced, unwilling to be a part of this embarrassment, this--this unexpected disappointment staring her in the face. Jaime would never kiss her, not when he could have any woman he wanted. Putting herself through this excruciating exercise would only make matters worse for her, strengthening her ever-growing feelings for him, trouncing her persistent struggle to quell her unrequited affection for him, fueling it enough to start a fire, she was worried, she wouldn’t be able to control.

“Brienne, wait.”

She halted, then wheeled around, only to find Jaime close behind her. Without warning, his hand came up to her neck, and her skin immediately broke into goosebumps that made her shiver. She made no effort to stop him. Cuffed to his eyes, she couldn’t budge. His other hand crept up her cheek, and her face burst into flames she wasn’t sure she’d be able to extinguish. She still did nothing to counter his advances, her eyes and limbs and every part of her body responding to him instead of following her orders. 

_There’s no need to live through this stupid agreement I’ve become an innocent unsuspecting victim of_ , she tried to tell herself. She could push him away and put an end to this within a second, but what could her muddled mind do when he brought his face to hers? How else could her aching heart respond, except concede to him, when his lips hovered over hers?

How could she resist kissing him back when he had his irresistible mouth pressed against hers?

The pub and her companions faded into non-existence, and for a whole amazing moment, it was only him and her. But before she could sink into his touch and let him take her breath away with all the wonderful things he did with his lips and fingers, he released her, bringing the magic to an end as abruptly as he’d unleashed it on her.

“Yay!” chirped Sansa, breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed. 

Jaime hastily cleared out of her personal space, but Brienne stood where she was, still dazed from the impact of the kiss, not knowing what to make of the restrained, yet exhilarating experience.

“There,” murmured Jaime, looking at Bronn. “Happy?”

“Not exactly,” drawled Bronn, “but it’ll do for a start.”

“What do you mean... _for a start?_ ” Jaime pounced on him, his eyes burning with an odd glow.

“Nothing,” Bronn said, his tone innocently defensive. “See you on Monday, everyone.” 

Yet to recover and not in the mental condition to attempt meaningful words, Brienne mumbled a quick goodnight to Sansa and Bronn once the payment was settled and decided to slink away, not having the nerve to speak to Jaime or deal with whatever she’d just been through.

“Hey, wench, wait for me,” Jaime called, just as she was about to get away. “I’m coming with you. Need to pick up that file I left behind at your place last week,” he reminded her, and her heart, both soared, as well as slid a few inches to her stomach at the prospect of spending a minimum of an hour in his company.

 _Him in my flat_ , she groaned to herself, _alone with me. How can I ever talk to him normally after this? How can I get back to work next week pretending none of this happened?_ Unwilling to bear the brunt of anymore of his presence, yet unable to resist his request, she found herself coming up with lame excuses like, “Can’t it wait till Monday? I’ll get it--”

“Nope,” he shot her down. “It’s kinda urgent. I need it for tomorrow.”

“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed, “let’s go.” As soon as she reached the exit, she heard some sniggering behind her. “ _Now!_ ” she added, ignoring Bronn who had, for some reason, taken it upon himself to reduce her life to an embarrassing mess.

They stepped out and into the first taxi they spotted, and Brienne was careful to keep her eyes off him. She confined herself to a corner, seeking refuge in her phone as soon as their ride began, fiddling around aimlessly through pointless whats-app messages and other useless things she wouldn’t otherwise bother to devote her time to. Throughout their journey, she kept mum, not daring to even glance in his direction, terrified that if she opened her mouth, she’d end up spilling out her deepest secrets, revealing the extent of her feelings for him. 

What if her unsettled mind forced her to blurt out in distress that she loved him, that she’d loved him for months?

_Love._

A strange thing, it was, hitting her when she’d expected it the least. 

Little did she know, when fate had thrown him into her path, that she’d be drawn to the most despicable man she’d ever met. His cutting sarcasm was the first thing she’d noted about him, his tendency to pick faults in her, his haughty voice and his arrogance eyes following close behind, getting under her skin, infuriating her more than anything else in this world. 

Things changed, however, and so did her opinion of him.

All his nastiness, every negative trait he possessed was forgotten when he’d saved her from an accident that could’ve claimed her life, the way he’d put himself in harm’s way to protect her, driving away her prejudice for him before she’d known it. Overnight, his cold eyes had suddenly felt warmer than a comforting winter fire, his casually flirtatious smile making her blush like a shy young girl whenever he’d chosen her to be the recipient of it. His stubble and perfect jawline often left her weak in the knees, tossing her into frequent bouts of wishful thinking, leaving her day-dreaming and wondering if she’d die of ecstasy if that chiselled jaw rubbed across the most sensitive, intimate parts of her, almost all such lapses of concentration ending with her seeking release in the confines of her bedroom with her vibrator to give her the much-needed relief.

Sadly, it could never be more than her raging fantasies, because they were poles apart. 

She sighed, tucking away the memories deep within her mind, fighting down the sensations mere thoughts of him triggered in her, her foggy breath on the glass reminding her of the future she was to face. On the wrong side of thirty with no husband nor boyfriend, murky and lonely, indeed, the rest of her life appeared to be. Slipping her phone back into her purse, she took to engaging herself with the goings-on outside, hiding under the cover of traffic, the noise and the darkness, interspersed with vehicular lights providing her something to focus on--anything to avoid interaction with the man sitting next to her.

Time crawled, and several times, she glanced at her wrist, anxiously wishing the minutes would tick away faster, her usually snappy journey now seeming like a lifetime. She counted the streetlamps, kept track of every vehicle that overtook them, but nothing could beat the gnawing discomfort within her, dread, giving it company, when she pondered the prospect of facing him.

Worse than that would be facing the memories of his memorable kiss every single day. How was she going to cope?

From the time they’d boarded until they drove past her gate, he too had remained aloof, keeping a gentlemanly distance from her, and that, oddly, upset her, confirming her theory that the kiss had been just an ordeal he had to put himself through to suffer the consequences of a mindless deal he’d struck.

He said nothing when they rode up the lift and got to her flat, nor did he open his mouth when she unlocked the door to let them both in. He lingered by the sofa, not bothering to sit down, and she went straight into her bedroom to fetch the folder he’d come here for, the eerie silence getting on her nerves, her helplessness and inability to cope with it affecting her more than the situation itself.

“Here,” she said, handing it to him.

To her surprise, instead of taking it, he fixed her with a frown. 

A quick glance at the folder told her it was the right one. “What’s wrong?” she asked, but he still didn’t reply, the lines on his forehead deepening, and with it, the intensity with which his eyes drilled into hers. “Jaime--”

“Go on, you can tell me now,” he began without context, his sharp gaze threatening to cut her down.

“Tell you what--”

“Spit it out, will you?” he snapped, his volume way above normal.

Not having the faintest idea of what had incensed him into exploding like this, she just wanted him to take the damned file and get out of her house. “You came here for this, didn’t you?” she said, thrusting it under his nose.

Snatching the folder, he tossed it away. “You didn’t say a word since--” he broke away, fuming, biting back whatever he was about to say. “You’re angry,” he said, when he’d calmed down enough to resume, “because I--because--” He paused again, this time to take a deep breath. 

“What?”

“Say it, wench,” he spat, his eyes, smoking coals. “You hated it!”

Brienne shook her head, confused and taken aback by his abrupt onslaught. “What the hell are you going on about?”

He made a sudden movement towards her. One hand on his hip and the other reaching for the wall behind her, he tilted his face close to hers, trapping her in multiple ways, heightening her distress whilst leaving her with a wild desire to sink her teeth into his collarbone. “The kiss,” he hissed. “It repelled you, you couldn’t stand it when I touched you.”

_Gods, what an idiot!_

Unnerved, though she was, by the rapidly diminishing gap between their lips, the sheer magnetism with which his eyes drew her towards him, knocking the air out of her, the intoxicating mix of his aftershave and the scent of sweat gleaming on his deliciously open neck, she tried not to show it. “In case you failed to notice, I _did_ kiss you back,” she rallied in the same tone, recalling how much she’d enjoyed it, how she’d wanted him to keep going. 

“Yes you did,” he immediately bounced back, “because you had to, or else it wouldn’t have been realistic--”

Even after such a prolonged discussion she couldn’t figure out where this futile subject was going. “You didn’t want it one bit. That was just a game, you didn’t have to make it appear real, Jaime. Now if you’ll just step back and--”

“I had to,” he shouted, inching nearer, exhaling into her, almost _kissing_ her again.

“Why?” she whispered, her breath caught in her chest when she feared that if he continued to look at her like this, she’d swoon in his arms, and after regaining consciousness, die of embarrassment. 

He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them, they still burned bright, though bearing no sign of the antagonism or the sourness he’d opened the conversation with. “Because I wanted to,” he said, his tone, much softer than before. “To me, wench, it was absolutely real.”

Blood froze in her veins. Did she hear him properly? Did he actually mean--or was she putting in too much into what he could’ve meant as a casual statement? Was he mocking her? Shooting her down with his sarcasm and pointing out indirectly that the kiss was his worst nightmare come true? Of course, he was. What else could it be? He had once told her that no man in his right senses would want to lock lips with her. 

Gloom branched into every nerve that ran beneath her skin when the Jaime of old came swimming before her eyes, and she chose to respond with a guarded, “You’re kidding,” hoping he’d stop talking in riddles and cryptic sentences. “You minced no words that day when you told me that I’m so disgustingly un-kissable,” she reminded him, the taunt still haunting her. “You think it’s easy for me to forget--”

“I’m not kidding,” he said, patches of red appearing around his ears and the enticing piece of skin his partly-unbuttoned shirt had left open for her eyes to feast on, “and that was a lie,” he went on, running his fingers through his gorgeous hair, “a pathetic lie which, unfortunately, managed to convince you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages, Brienne, and given the chance this evening, I wanted to do my best with it.”

Her heart hummed a tune she’d never heard before, a melody of the optimism that had eluded her for months, but there was one thing she couldn’t understand. “You pulled away abruptly,” she said, recalling how he’d withdrawn, “like you couldn’t stand coming near me, like I'm some untouchable--”

“I was nervous,” he admitted, his voice trembling to reveal his nervousness, “and terrified that you’d kick me in the balls if you weren’t up to it. And I guess I was partly right. Although you refrained from attacking me, you did find it revolting--”

“I didn’t,” she corrected him, and she could, all of a sudden, feel the warmth from his body seep into her skin and envelop her in a fire she’d give anything to perish in.

His mouth twitched with a smile. “Care to explain, wench?”

“Far from revolting, it was,” she said it clearly this time, fighting hard not to blush like a sixteen year old. “I wanted it too, I--”

He slid closer, erasing the rest of the sentence off her brain, and his lips were almost on hers, just shy of full contact, the scent of him hypnotic and magical. “I’m going to kiss you again,” he declared, his voice and his eyes laden with intent, want and need - for her.

“Do it,” she invited, dragging her hand across his impressive chest. “Stop wasting more time and just get on with it, Jaime.” She let her other hand wander up his neck, caressing his stubble on its way, the feel of his coarse skin on hers filling her mind with wild fantasies and an arousal like none she’d felt before.

He took his time to act. His lips were touching hers, but he wasn’t kissing her yet. Not properly. Not like the erotic lip-locks of her dreams. 

And then he did.

Pushing her to the wall, Jaime covered her mouth with a kiss so hungry, so intense and so aggressive that it left her utterly defenseless. He trapped her with his body, and she closed her eyes in bliss, shivering under his touch. The feel of his muscular frame on hers was oh-so-wonderful, and the weight of his body against hers felt almost _sinful_. He kept going, not disappointing her this time, coaxing her lips open with his tongue, and when she complied with a lusty moan unsuitable for decent ears, he began devouring her, his rock-hard erection pushing into her thighs, telling her how badly he wanted her. Amidst desperate gasps and helpless sighs, her knees gave in, her poor heart and muddled head unable to withstand so much at once, but he refused to let her collapse, strong arms wrapping around her waist and dragging her back upright, steadying her, supporting her with his body, showing her no mercy, showing no signs that he’d ever bring this to a close. She responded like she’d reacted to no man before, kissing him back with fervour, stroking his Adam's apple, caressing his neck, treating herself to a feel of his lustrous hair that screamed for her attention. 

For months, she’d craved this, and nights, she’d spent, sleepless and panting, lying awake after sweaty dreams that always ended with his mouth on hers and his body around hers, thrashing and thrusting, taking her to the moon and back, throwing her off heights she’d dare not ascend.

“ _Gods!_ ” she moaned, melting into the fire that was _him_ , and before she could realize it, her fingers were under his shirt, getting a taste of his hard muscles, teasing the chest hair that would feel so wonderfully scratchy against her tender breasts. Turned on by merely the mental image, she clawed into his skin, and he roared, pulling her closer. Their mouths glued as one, and their bodies fused together, they had gone too far this time, hitting a point of no-return, their friendship absolutely and completely ruined. Their hands roamed all over, itching to find bare skin, hers, tearing his buttons open, and his, beneath her shirt, inching upwards, groping whatever bit of her that lay in his path.

“Wow,” she gasped, when they’d taken an unavoidable break to breathe. “That was simply--” she tried to describe what he’d put her through, but words, appropriate enough to do it justice, didn’t come to her. Clinging on to him to avoid crashing to the floor, she buried her face in his throat, hoping he’d soon do something to banish the agony pooling up between her legs.

“Better than our first?” he asked, his roving fingers continuing to torture her beneath her shirt.

“Do you even have to ask me that?” she whispered, fighting the urge to bite his earlobe.

He pulled away to meet her eyes. “When I lost to Bronn this evening, I expected no more than a kiss, but--” Breathing heavily, he paused to look at her properly - her bruised lips, her messed up clothes, her shaking body, all of her. His eyes darkening with naked desire, he let his hand fall to her chest again.

Brienne felt herself redden, his prying fingers making life difficult for her. “But--what?”

“I never expected things to get this-- _out of control_.” He drew away to put some gap between them. “I never thought I’d get this far, this deep into--”

She pulled him by the shirt. “Make it to the finish line then,” she said hoarsely. “It’s cruel to leave it at this, Jaime--” 

His mouth found hers again, punishing her with furious, penetrating kisses while they began ripping the clothes off each other with an urgency that would kill her if he did nothing to alleviate her agony soon. “Bedroom,” she gasped, struggling with her bra strap until it conceded defeat, the annoying bit of lingerie finally releasing her breasts to join the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Here. Can’t sustain,” he rasped, and after shucking off his underwear which was his last piece of clothing to go, he grabbed her by the waist of her pants and yanked it down with a violent tug that may have caused a tear or two. He slipped a hand under her panties, and her body shuddered for a second, then slackened as soon as he rid her of it. Tossing her on the sofa with remarkable strength, he climbed atop her, and when he cupped her breasts, fingering the hard pearls of her nipples, she screamed his name, her body, a medley of agony and delight.

“Hang on,” he said, when her hands enclosed his arse, “condoms--”

“Be quick about it,” she shouted, impatient when he got off her, angry that she had to forego his touch for a while. 

Reaching for his jeans, he rummaged through the pockets. “Fuck,” he swore, scanning and searching, and when he’d found what he was looking for, he dropped the pants like a hot potato and sprang into action. She watched, every second of waiting telling on her, her wetness crying out for his cock, begging for the explosion that would put an end to her misery and douse the fire that had been consuming her. 

_Finally,_ she thought, pulling him back onto her when he’d, at last, rolled on a condom after several painful moments of severing contact with her. 

He thrust once, and she felt as if she was about to burst wide open, and when he thrust again, a grunt escaping him as he went in this time with far more vigour than before, it seemed like he’d been made to fit her. He began riding her, and she hopped on to the journey. He kept pumping into her just like in her dreams, and she met him mid-way, each time, enthusiasm for enthusiasm, passion for passion, the thrill, the rush of adrenaline and everything about it so vastly enlivening that she’d remember this night for years to come.

“I love you, Jaime,” she cried, when he took her to the edge of the universe and brought her back with a bang.

He didn’t reply, his throat muscles sweaty and strained when he pounded into her one last time with a roar that would’ve stirred the neighbourhood.

Done and spent, he lay atop her, still inside her, and she caressed the damp skin of his back as they breathed together as one, their lips meeting again for a gentle kiss.

“I love you too, Brienne,” he whispered, his eyes shining with so much more than lust when he tenderly stroked her sweat-covered cheek. “I have, since the day I jumped in front of that car to save you.” He bent to kiss her again. “Losing to Bronn today is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said, then paused a bit before adding, “Well, second best, actually.”

His eyes twinkling, he deepened the kiss before she could say anything.

  
  



End file.
